The Fallen
by spottedleopard79
Summary: Fang is a trickster. He acts like a well-known celebrity, even goes to concerts as them, only to steal from the fans. When he plays his trick on Max's band, the Fallen, he thinks he will once again make a clean get away. But when Max keeps appearing, ruining any further heists, he realizes he may have bitten off more than he could chew.


Hey guys. It's been awhile sense I have written a story. I hope you guys like it. I will try to update as much as possible. Enjoy.

**I do not own Maximum Ride. The Balloon Heads idea also belongs to** **James Patterson.**

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Looking out over the large concert hall, Fang hid behind the curtains. His blond hair was close cropped to his head, bright hazel green eyes shown in the lighting. The open jacket he wore was so hottylisous- in the opinions of a couple of teenaged girls- and his skin tight leather pants left little to the imagination. At least, that's what everyone else saw. When he looked in the mirror he saw a cleverly made rues. A disguise. The latex mask and wig were made specifically for this mission. He had a spray tan done and went to the gym so that it looked like he spent most of his time exercising in the sun. He had to admit that his exposed chest looked really good.

"Jenson, Baby!" A high pitched male voice shouted from behind him.

Turning around, Fang shot the gay man a thousand watt smile, "Seymour, Darling! I'm terribly sorry about setting up this concert without your knowledge. But it felt…it felt…like it was calling my name! I was just too excited to wait! I had to start making preparations right away! You're not too terribly mad are you?"

Fang had to keep himself from gagging. It had taken him weeks to perfect the annoying, excited voice that the singer had. It looked as if it had all paid off though, as the singers manager was nodding, not even noticing the small things that separated Fang's disguise from his actual client. He was confident he could even fool the singers own mother.

"Oh, I suppose I could let this one go. But next time be sure to give me a fair warning!" The manger laughed, patting Fang on the back, "Now get out there and make me proud!"

Smiling, he nodded and turned toward the stage. Oh, he would make him proud all right.

He strutted out on to the stage, his arms out stretched as if to catch all of the fans love. He snorted quietly at the idea. This was not love. This was obsession. A smirk played on his lips as he grabbed the microphone. Of course, that obsession was going to make him rich.

"Hey! I'm Jenson Michaels! But I'm sure you already know that." He laughed, playing up the crowd, "Let's get this party started!"

The crowd cheered as Fang twirled the microphone and did a little dance move that he learned by watching countless Jenson Michaels videos. Bringing the mic to his lips, he began to sing a romantic song. The crowd went wild at hearing the familiar song. What no one knew was that right before he began the song, during his little dance number, he had slipped a small remote control, which he kept hidden in his sleeve, into his hand. Milliseconds before he sang, he pressed the play button. Tucked away in the darkest corners of the rafters, large speakers were spread out. Each speaker simultaneously played a recording of Jenson Michaels singing his famous song, 'In the Moonlight.' Forcing himself not to snicker at the delighted faces off all the balloon heads in the crowd, Fang pretended to sing to the recording.

After pretending to sing a bunch more of Jenson's songs, Fang waved to the crowd and walked off the stage. He grabbed a water bottle off of a table and took a sip. Panting, he scratched his head through the wig. Why did these things have to be so itchy?

"Jenson, Baby! That had to be your best concert yet!" The managers annoying shrilly voice called.

Fang forced a smile at the idiot, "Thanks. Just trying to please my fans."

"Well, you did my boy!" The manager said excitedly, slapping his back again. His smile quickly faded though and he gave Fang a strange look.

"Something wrong?" Fag asked, a small bud of worry growing in his stomach.

"You…" The manger started, narrowing his eyes to get a better look at Fang, "You stink. Go wash up before you meet any backstage fans."

Shoulders slumping in relief, Fang nodded and scurried into a changing room. Locking the door behind him, he went over to one corner of the room, peeling off the wig and mask as he went. At the corner of the room, he placed his right hand on the wall and felt around. Finding the loose stone he was looking for, he slipped his fingers into the crevasses and wedged the stone out of place. Placing the stone on the floor, he stuck his hand in the hole that was revealed and pull out the duffle bag that he had hidden in there.

He stripped out of his outfit; he took his normal street close out of the bag and changed. Taking out some Clorox wipes from the bag, he wiped his face to make sure that none of the latex was stuck to his face, and then he ran his finger through his hair to make it look more normal. Pleased with the transformation, he put the stone back in place, picked up his bag and walked out of the changing room. Calmly, as if he was meant to be backstage, he sauntered right past the manager and to the front doors of the building. Having to shove away some of his adoring fans, he finally found the ticket booth that was stationed at entrance.

"Hey man," He said to the ticket guy in a fake Mexican accent, "names Raymond. I work for mister Michaels? He told me to collect the profit." He said who he worked for as a question on purpose, trying to seem like a new guy.

"He doesn't trust many people does he?" The ticket guy laughed, opening the money box.

"Ha! Guess not. I'm sure that after this I'm gonna be fired. Can't trust me more than that." He laughed.

Fang showed the man his fake ID. It identified him as a Raymond Simmons, a man who recently moved to America from Mexico.

"Well, good luck on the job hunting," Ticket man laughed as he handed him a bag that he had put the money in.

"You too," Fang sneered before walking away.

Fang walked out of the concert hall with what he knew was millions of dollars in his hands, and he wasn't done yet. There were billions more fans out there to have their money robbed straight out of their wallets.

And Fang was just the man to do the job.


End file.
